


he bore the scars of bad places

by elbatross



Category: Filth (2012), Shame (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossdressing, Crossover Pairings, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Psychological Trauma, References to Suicide, Scars, accents in text format, the whole fic is a huge spoiler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elbatross/pseuds/elbatross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everyone can be saved. Brandon just figures he can help the ones who have the chance to be helped.</p>
<p>Filth/Shame crossover with Filth set in the same year as Shame. This whole fic is a huge spoiler for both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he bore the scars of bad places

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> [Russian](http://ficbook.net/readfic/1463089) by [Doctor Barty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBarty/pseuds/DoctorBarty)
> 
> Vietnamese by Joel7th

Scars frighten Brandon most days. Not all of them, just the ones that might mean the person failed at taking their own life. He doesn't want to think of Sissy in that place where she can't have her favorite earrings or printed dresses, a place he doesn't go because sometimes even the sight of a nurse in scrubs tempts him.

So why is this man here now with that thick, glistening scar on his throat like he'd had a rope around it at some point? He seems so small and bulky, fitting neatly against Brandon's chest as the skirt he's wearing rides up his powerful thighs. Something about him scares Brandon, maybe because he's a man who screamed and swore that he wasn't a man, but doesn't carry himself like those drag queens at the clubs in New York. Then again, this is Scotland, maybe it's all different here. He gets another glance at the man's neck.

Maybe not.

The man in his lap slaps his hand away when he tries to slip it under his skirt, glaring up at him. He's clean shaven for the most part and all dolled up, his eyes bright and rimmed with kohl. Brandon leans down to kiss him. He has a stench to him that burns his nose, but there's something about him that's alluring despite it. It might be his desperate kissing, or the way his hand tightens on Brandon's throat as he tries to coax him into doing the same. Brandon won't, though. He can't. They part, the Scot licking his lips.

"Wha are yae waitin for? Go an." He tips his head back, baring his neck and that scar. Not a full minute after the offer's made, Brandon moves him off his lap and gets off the bed. It makes the man angry, and he strips down to his stockings before striding over to Brandon. His hand goes around Brandon's throat again, pressing him to the wall.

He's small, so very small. The man's like a rat, filthy and small and frightening. Brandon struggles to swallow, but manages to get a better look at him as he starts to yell. There are more scars, and a particularly uncomfortable rash on his genitals. He's glad that things haven't gone very far. Something's said about cocaine and him being a "bastard yank," then ragged fingernails dig into Brandon's skin. He's only a little frightened, and the man grins up at him.

"You wouldn't kill me. They'd come looking because I'm an American , you know. Wouldn't want to look like some kind of beast with nothing to wear but a skirt, would you?" The words make the man snap and change into someone different entirely and he crumples to the floor. He's naked, trembling, so pink and pretty as his makeup starts to smudge under tears.

"We're naw a beast," he murmurs. "We're naw." His palms come away black. "We're naw like him. We're naw!" The black transfers to Brandon's slacks as his grip tightens around his calves. "Say it!"

"You're not like him." He just wants to go back to his hotel room instead of this grimy place he let the man pull him into, maybe call up a proper woman instead of someone off the street. Still, Brandon can't get himself to want to leave just yet. "What's your name?" The man won't answer, scooting closer to Brandon's leg to latch on to it. "I know it isn't Carole." They're quiet save for breathing and a couple clicks of choked back sobs. Brandon doesn't get an answer. He settles for the weight on his leg quietening and going still when he reaches down to run fingers through his hair.

It's in need of a washing, sure, but he thinks the man is far lovelier with his own hair. Really, aside from the attitude and personal hygiene issues, he isn't bad at all. For a while, they stay situated with Brandon against the wall and the smaller man clinging to him receiving attention, the only change coming when he falls asleep. Brandon waits just a little longer before moving him away and carrying him to the bathroom for a quick wipedown.

That's probably not the best idea, Brandon thinks to himself, but if he's going to leave without any other sort of pleasure then he's going to leave this guy better off than he found him. Besides, the rash doesn't look as contagious as he'd once believed, and while it doesn't look any better as a raw pink than when it was flaky it does look at least somewhat cleaner. With that task taken care of, he bundles him up and redresses him before fishing out his identification from the purse abandoned on the night table. Thank god he has at least some handle on how to look at these sort of IDs from his past trips.

"Bruce, hm? At least your ID has some useful information." He picks up his phone and taps in the address, finding that Bruce doesn't live very far from the motel. The information doesn't make Brandon's walk to his flat any easier, nor does it make Bruce any lighter on his back. It takes a little while for him to find the key and get them inside, but even longer to get Bruce into another set of clothes for sleeping in and put him to bed. The place is a dump, and like Bruce before Brandon cleaned him up, it reeks.

"It's really not my business, Bruce, but I'd say you need a housekeeper. You're trouble, but just this once I'll help you out. Not everyone gets this after they don't put out." Brandon frowned and started to look for any sort of chemicals and tools to clean with. He didn't expect this to be the way he'd be spending his first night in Edinburgh.

000

There's a knock at the door of Brandon's hotel room a few days later. He's not motivated to answer it until the knocks threaten to wake his neighbors. No one should need him at this hour (it's nearly four, dammit), but the answering knocks and yells for him to "just answer the bloody door already" prompt him out of bed with a groan. Brandon pads to the door and opens it, finding himself face to face with the small man from the night before waving a police badge at him.

Really, this is just too good and he's too tired to have any other response beyond laughing. Brandon can't imagine a funnier situation: himself half naked at the door in the middle of the night and the crossdresser from the night before in a tie and with a gingery beard. People pound on their doors in complaint, and Bruce just continues to glare up at him.

"Good morning, officer. What seems to be the problem?" He manages to get a few words in before he's ushered into his room again and Bruce kicks the door shut behind him. He braces it with all his weight, and Brandon's sure that the man's sturdy enough to keep himself planted there for as long as he'd like without having to recall what he looked like nude.

"Yae," Bruce starts, "took me home a few nights ago. Yae touched me."

"That was the deal, yes? I touch you, you go home, I come back here."

"Yae touched me and yae cleaned ma flat. Yae _washed_ me, took me home, cleaned up ma flat. Tha's breaking and entering, yaenno." There it was again, that small and angry look. He's less frightening this time, at least.

"I was going to get something done if we weren't going to fuck." Brandon wanders back to the bed, sitting on the edge of it to get a little distance. "And I'm pretty sure cocaine possession is illegal here too, you should be glad that I flushed it instead of snorting it myself or turning you in. I don't think you came here because you wanted to arrest me anyhow, Bruce."

Bruce grits his teeth, dropping his badge to the floor as he starts to pull away from the door and move towards Brandon cautiously. Any slower and Brandon might have to stick out his hand so he can sniff it when he gets close enough. In an act that seems to surprise them both, Bruce takes a seat next to Brandon on the bed.

"People daen...they daen do tha. The caring thing, with the washing and cleanin, naw for me. I wanna know why." His collar and tie barely hides the scar, but Brandon is still far too aware of it's presence to resist reaching out to push the cloth away with his thumb for a better glance. He strokes the edges of the skin and Bruce leans in ever so slightly for more. Neither are sure if it's a result of fetish or comfort, but they don't comment on it.

"I missed my chance last time, and I've been trying to atone for it the best way I can. I don't know what your past is, but I think I can make an educated guess and we can go from there. What I'm asking is that you give me a little of your time while I'm here, I'll help you and you help me. Yes?" His hand moves to Bruce's hair. It's clean and soft. Bruce snorts and nods, keeping uncomfortably still until Brandon gets up to go through his bags and tosses him a shirt. "Get undressed and get into bed. You can borrow that for tonight. Too late to leave without having the hotel staff yell at you."

They huddle into bed, keeping to opposite sides while they stare each other down. Brandon is the first to crack and move closer, mumbling something about the cold, and Bruce doesn't make an attempt to move away. He does flinch when his hair's brushed back for a kiss to his forehead, but only because he isn't expecting it. They exchange good nights and simply accept when Bruce's hand fists into Brandon's shirt to cling to him through the night.


End file.
